


Tempered Steel

by mokuyoubi



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ed finally getting his shit together, Epiphanies, Fix-It, Kissing, Love, M/M, Maybe OOC, Parallels, Post-Finale, but it could be argued, from the dock scene, i don't think so, that Ed is too deep in denial for this kind of character growth..., with 3x14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: From the moment he woke in the back seat of the cruiser, Ed has felt as though he’s been caught in a play where Oswald’s forgotten all the lines, or Ed has. He shakes his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, but they’re scattered uselessly. It’s so hard tofocuswhen Oswald is looking up at him from under his lashes with a knowing smirk toying at the corner of his lips. What does he know that Ed doesn’t?Back and forth he strokes over the silken texture, unbroken by the fancy pins Oswald likes to wear… Ed realises he’s staring blankly at Oswald’s throat, brow furrowed in confusion. It’s a simple thing with his memory, to call up an image of Oswald in the warehouse, propelled forward by Gordon.“It was your tie pin,” Ed breathes out loud, hand slackening.OR Ed figures it out before he pulls the trigger, and changes the outcome in a rather dramatic fashion. My fix-it of 3x22.





	Tempered Steel

“There is no later. If you have something to say, now is the time.”

“Duly noted.”

“This isn’t how this is supposed to go,” Ed growls. His hand shoots out to grab a fistful of Oswald’s tie. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

Oswald looks back at him calmly, one brow arched in understated amusement, and it’s _all wrong._ “I’d be more surprised, if you actually knew _what_ you wanted.”

Ed gives Oswald’s tie a rough tug, a spark of pleasure at causing him to stumble forward unsteadily. The mild annoyance on Oswald’s face only lasts a second though, before it smooths out again into that expressionless mask that sets Ed ill at ease. There is an air of resigned sadness hanging about him, thick as the fog that rolls in from the river in the early morning hours. 

That mercurial gaze never wavers from Ed’s. Silvered green, like an old mirror. Once Ed looked into those eyes and saw who he was truly meant to be reflected back at him. The shape of that man hasn’t changed, though the means of becoming him are as ever changing as the exact shade of Oswald’s iris.

Ed steadies his shaking hand and lifts the gun higher. This close the muzzle brushes Oswald’s clothing. There will be no recovering from a bullet to the chest at point blank range.

“I know what I want.” 

Confidence is key. It’s what has made Ed into the man he is. The surety that he was meant for something more than the mundanity of the normal citizenry. That his mental acumen set him apart from their petty concerns. That he could prevail at anything, if he put his mind to it, be it winning Miss Kringle’s heart or covering up her murder, befriending Oswald Cobblepot or ensuring his victory in the mayoral campaign or dying at Ed’s hand so that his transformation could be complete.

If at first you don’t succeed…

But there’s no satisfaction when Oswald is limp as a doll in his grasp. None of the begging, the desperate declarations of love, his insistence that Ed must love him in return. Only his smile blooming slow and melancholy.

“Oh Ed,” Oswald says, with an aching, tender fondness that makes Ed’s skin feel too tight and anger burn through his chest. “What are you waiting for?”

 _Yes, what_ am _I waiting for?_ Absently, Ed flicks his thumb across Oswald’s tie as he considers just what it is that’s niggling in the back of his brain. 

From the moment he woke in the back seat of the cruiser, Ed has felt as though he’s been caught in a play where Oswald’s forgotten all the lines, or Ed has. He shakes his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, but they’re scattered uselessly. It’s so hard to _focus_ when Oswald is looking up at him from under his lashes with a knowing smirk toying at the corner of his lips. What does he know that Ed doesn’t?

Back and forth he strokes over the silken texture, unbroken by the fancy pins Oswald likes to wear… Ed realises he’s staring blankly at Oswald’s throat, brow furrowed in confusion. It’s a simple thing with his memory, to call up an image of Oswald in the warehouse, propelled forward by Gordon.

“It was your tie pin,” Ed breathes out loud, hand slackening.

Momentary surprise flashes in Oswald’s eyes, followed swiftly by disappointment, before both are tucked away and he straightens his spine, shoulders back in that prideful way he has. He smiles like the cat that caught the canary and places his hand over Ed’s, carefully prying his tie out from loose fingers.

The heat in Ed’s chest expands, sweeping up his spine, licking up the nape of his neck. It’s a thousand tiny needles along his scalp. He grabs Oswald again without his brain actually giving the order. His body has a mind of its own, hauling Oswald closer still, enough to feel the heat of his breath.

“You led me here on purpose--why?”

“I’m not the one who brought us here.” Oswald snaps, the first spark of real life in him since they arrived at the docks. Satisfaction and delight flare through Ed in response. _This_ is more like it. “I wanted to believe this could end differently, but it was never going to.”

Footsteps sound behind him. The click of heels and a pneumatic hiss of moving joints. Oswald tilts his head in acknowledgement of their presence before shifting his gaze back to Ed. “You see, Ed, I knew deep down this is where we were always going to end up.”

Ed opens his mouth but no words are forthcoming, and he closes it again, stupidly. Oswald orchestrated this entire thing. He allowed Ed to uncuff himself, to gain the upper hand, even threw that temper tantrum with the knowledge that his words would bring them here. He was so certain that he could manipulate Ed as to have his people meet him here. 

Raising the gun into the air, Ed pulls the trigger and has his theory confirmed when it clicks harmlessly. He flinches at the sound, the way Oswald shifts in his grip to reach into his pocket and produce a handful of bullets that spill to the ground.

But _why?_ Why this charade, when he had Ed at his mercy? Oswald could have killed him at any point in time. Ed’s mind races to come up with a satisfying explanation for it all, but he’s left grasping at straws. Unless…

Unless, despite his anger and the bitterness over Ed’s betrayal, Oswald had hoped for a different outcome.

The realisation washes over Ed like cold water cutting through the haze of confusion. And suddenly, he’s that naive forensic technician again, aware of standing at the elbow of Oswald Cobblepot. The very epitome of everything Ed desired to become, clever and powerful and untouchable.

Those early days feel a million years ago, but Ed still remembers it like it was yesterday. His desperation to garner Oswald’s notice, to show his worth, to become indispensable to the Penguin. The rush of unparalleled pleasure Ed felt when he realised just how to accomplish it. Fresh from his own loss of Miss Kringle, and the death of Oswald’s mother, it was all so clear.

That love was a useless emotion for them. That it would only serve to weaken them. And it was easy in that moment for Ed to internalise the notion. To let it burrow in his chest and form a callus around his heart. As easy as it had been to use it against Oswald in the wake of Isabella’s death. Easier than dealing with the fact that his grief had been entirely subsumed by the hot, conflicted mess of emotion Oswald’s love brought out in him.

Better to reduce Oswald to a caricature of himself framed by his failures and weakness. Some pathetic, needful creature driven only by his base emotions that allowed Ed to feel superiority over him. 

And that, in turn, made it easier to kill Oswald without remorse.

But that’s not who stands before him now, mournful but unbowed. Oh, he’s still in love with Ed, that much is plain to see. His longing is a tangible thing between them, extending a trembling hand to Ed, thoroughly expecting to be slapped away, and yet unable to resist. It makes Ed’s stomach surge sickly, tongue thick and dry and useless for shaping words in his mouth, fingers spasming around Oswald’s tie so tightly he’s uncertain if they’ll ever come free again without being broken.

This Oswald, with the self-satisfied curl of a smile, the steady confidence that Edward can do him no harm, the silent authority he holds over the soldiers Ed senses at his back. Love isn’t this Oswald’s weakness any longer.

It’s his strength. 

Now Ed can see, with the same clarity he felt after Miss Kringle’s death. After all his talk about Oswald being governed by emotion, here they are, going through the same disastrous motions as before, and it’s all Ed’s doing. His hands tremble violently, and he has to blink back the sudden moisture rimming his eyes.

“But you expected me to pull the trigger, didn’t you?” Ed demands, or means to, but the words sound torn from him, desperate. He shakes Oswald once and steps into him, body to body.

There it is, the slightest tremor in Oswald’s lips when he parts them. Ed’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue darting out to wet the pink bow of his upper lip. “I’ll admit,” he says, gaze lowered between them. “This isn’t playing out precisely as I had imagined.”

A fissure of excitement races through Ed. “You were testing me, because no matter what you say, you don’t want me dead.” He grins, and for the first time in months it feels natural, not just some obscene approximation of happiness. “You thought I’d pull the trigger, and make it easy for you, but I didn’t. So what does that mean, Oswald?”

“I don’t know,” Oswald bites out. He exhales harshly through his nose, lips pressed in a thin line.

“But I passed your test,” Ed says, gleeful, unable to stop his grin from spreading wider, aching in his cheeks.

“And so what if you did, Ed?” Oswald asks, drawing out the shape of his name, tongue pressed hard to his palate on the consonant. Even that pointed jab, Oswald’s persistent refusal to call him the Riddler, can’t get under Ed’s skin now. “Where does that leave us?”

Ed knows if he thinks about this too long or hard he won’t be able to go through with it. Right now he’s acting more on impulse than logic. All this time struggling to understand why Oswald’s death affected him like it did, and the dark path he stumbled down after. The conflicting burn of acrid anger and elation when he’d seen Oswald alive again in that cage. 

Tugging the tangle of the strings just wound them tighter and tighter into a knotted mess, but now he’s cut through it all. The giddy headrush of adrenaline at his victory blocks out higher thought. For the first time in his life, he thinks maybe that’s for the best.

“Oswald.” Ed takes a deep breath and forces his fingers to let go, smoothing over the wrinkled fabric of Oswald’s vest, tucks his tie in. Beneath the palm of his hand Ed can feel Oswald’s heart racing, belying his outward calm. Ed strokes his hands across Oswald’s collar slowly, telegraphing his movements, to wrap his fingers delicately around Oswald’s shoulders.

“I thought love was our weakness. I thought what happened between us was only proof of that.”

“Yes,” Oswald hisses. He shifts restlessly but doesn’t shove Ed away, makes no move to shrug away from his touch. Oswald’s longing wraps its fingers around Ed’s throat, forcing him to draw shallow breaths. “I’m well aware of that fact.”

“But I was _wrong_ ,” Ed says, all in a rush. “I didn’t consider how brave you were to give in to love, rather than denying it.”

“If you think a few pretty words are going to--” Oswald begins, and Ed doesn’t think. He pushes down that acerbic voice growling in his head _what are you doing_? And just does what he _wants_ instead.

Ed’s kiss catches Oswald entirely off-guard, halfway through a word, mouth parted. Oswald’s lips are slack and surprisingly soft, and his breath tastes of stale fear, but it’s not enough to stop Ed from licking into his mouth. Not when Oswald responds almost at once, as if unable to help himself. It’s a desperate, broken moan that spills from his mouth to be swallowed up by Ed’s. All sensation aside, Ed could keep kissing Oswald forever just to hear that sound again and again. It throbs low and hot in his gut.

Kissing Oswald is so dramatically unlike kissing Kristen or Isabella that it’s impossible to compare them. Kristen, who liked it when Ed took charge, and Isabella with her teasing little nips, but neither of them had this _hunger_ , as if Oswald would never be satisfied, even if he devoured Ed whole. And he would, Ed knows, he will, with long, deep, sucking kisses, hands coming up to clasp Ed’s waist beneath his jacket, fingers twisting roughly in the fabric of Ed’s shirt, teeth digging in hard enough to draw blood when Ed pulls back. 

Oswald makes a bereft sound, eyes fluttering open, swaying forward for another kiss before catching himself. Ed can see the physical process of Oswald closing himself off again, withdrawing behind that restrained façade. It’s not nearly so effective a display now, with his lips swollen red and the flush in his pale cheeks.

It’s no wonder Ed denied himself this for so long. Even before Isabella, when he first had an inkling of the true nature of Oswald’s feelings for him, he’d told himself it was friendship and nothing more. Just as everything with Oswald, this is too much. This isn’t the simple, easy attraction he’s experienced before.

Their love is gunsmoke and broken bones and the bodies of everyone who stands in their way. It’s the gaping wounds they’ve left on one another that should have been fatal, but somehow they’ve survived. Instead it’s cauterized all of Oswald’s soft edges and left him the strongest version of himself. And Ed’s denial has only left him floundering for purpose.

“Where does that leave us?” Oswald says, like he’s read Ed’s mind.

“I don’t want you dead.” Ed whispers. He has to stop to catch his breath and shake his head, clenches his teeth to get through the rest of what he means to say. “I didn’t know who I was without you.” 

_I love you_ he wants to say, but that’s too much too soon, and Oswald would see it as nothing more than a desperate attempt at manipulation.

Oswald scoffs. “What about the Riddler?”

The muscles of Ed’s jaw ache with the effort to refrain from lashing out in response to Oswald’s scorn. His cheek twitches, closes his eyes briefly and draws a breath and lets it out slowly. He can remember a time when Oswald’s temper merely provoked indulgent amusement in him, he just needs to find that place again. 

A serene, albeit forced, smile smooths over Ed’s features. “A work in progress.” As much as it pains Ed to admit, he knows it’s the truth. He tried to tell himself differently, when he said goodbye to Oswald’s ghost, but here he is, and he can’t bring himself to kill Oswald again. 

But maybe, just maybe, the Riddler and the Penguin could coexist. Maybe they could evolve together. Maybe Ed would never be finished learning from Penguin’s example, and that wasn’t weakness. Stagnation is death, after all.

“Boss?” Fries calls out, voice flat and bored.

Oswald’s eyes dart back and forth over Ed’s face, lips twisted up in a thoughtful scowl, and Ed tries to appear as earnest and contrite as he possibly can be. At last Oswald speaks, looking Ed straight in the eye, “Thank you, Victor, but I don’t think I’ll be needing your services right now.” He steps out of Ed’s grip and towards his people, Ed close on his heels. “Ed will be accompanying us to the lounge. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“D’you think that’s a good idea?” Ivy asks, taking Ed in head to toe with a dubious quirk of her brows.

“I suppose that remains to be seen.”

Doubt lingers in Oswald’s face, in the dark shadow of his eyes. Ed will have to work to convince him of his sincerity. Rebuilding the trust between them won’t be quick or easy, but Ed is equal to the task. He’s always appreciated a challenge.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to end it where I did or it could have just kept going on forever, soooo, I might do another follow up to further resolve things, and because I want to write porn for these two. Let me know if that's a thing you'd like to see!


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